


When True Lovers Meet in Mayfair

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 17:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20510603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: About a bus which drove to London anyway, a certain flat in Mayfair, and two supernatural entities scheming over their glasses of wine.





	When True Lovers Meet in Mayfair

They were getting close to Crowley's place.

The bus hummed through streets of Mayfair — quiet, empty and untouched by anything that Armageddon had brought along that day, the only exception being the storm's leftovers, puddles shining in the moonlight.

Aziraphale squirmed in his seat.

"I think—" he said not so much to Crowley as to the seat in front of him. "Well, that is, if the invitation still stands, of course, I think I'll..."

He puckered his lips and faced the demon.

(Which was to say, "It's still hard for me to finish this sentence.")

"It does," said Crowley.

Aziraphale nodded. The demon felt his shoulders relax slightly as he leaned back into his seat.

Crowley watched Hyde Park disappear from view. The bus took a sharp turn. Just a few blocks and they'll be home. Well, not home, really. But they'll be in his flat — the only place left in the world that he could call "his" after the bookshop burned.

A minute or so later he started getting up from his seat.

"We're here, angel," he said, snapping his fingers discreetly.

The bus obediently came to a halt. Those of the few passengers who were conscious enough to wonder what made the driver stop in front of some random Mayfair apartment block didn't even get the chance to ponder on this question. Neither did they have the chance to notice the man in the beige coat snapping his fingers a second before.

An angel and a demon entered the building and climbed the stairs in silence.

"That's the one," said Crowley, pulling out his keys. Aziraphale wondered if the demon was so tired that he forgot he could miracle the door open. Or maybe he was doing it on purpose. "After you."

"Quite a nice place you have here, dear," lied Aziraphale, looking around the hallway which was way too dark and empty for his liking. But it was Crowley's place, so of course it was nice. Which meant he didn't really lie, did he?

"Ngk," said Crowley. And after a second of thought added: "Liked yours better anyway."

He froze with his hand on the ajar door to the next room.

"I forgot to tell you — well, there was no time for it, really, but. Anyway. It— it got messy today, Hastur and Ligur came here and things were... well, messy," he finished clumsily and pushed the door.

Aziraphale came in first, taking a long step over a pile of clothes and a red bucket. Something was off. He stared at the seemingly random items, puzzled.

The smell, he realised, stepping aside to let Crowley enter the room. He looked around. Something smelled of goodness—

"Ah."

The gasp was so quiet that it might as well have been a simple breath.

"What?"

Aziraphale didn't seem to register the question and was now slowly circling the desk. Crowley followed the angel's gaze.

Oh. Right.

The thermos.

He had been too agitated earlier, when he had taken it in his hands for the first time since 1967; now, with Aziraphale here, the memory of that one conversation from fifty years ago flooded the room.

The angel brushed the thermos, deep in Somebody knows what thoughts, looking heartbroken and regretful and scared and _sorry_ and even more things that the demon didn't manage to catch before they faded. It was hard to bear.

"Yes, well. This bridge is definitely burned now," said Crowley, referring to his enounter with Dukes of Hell, sounding not even half as nonchalantly as he intended.

Aziraphale looked up at him. His expression was somehow even sadder than the second before.

Crowley took the opportunity to look away and waved his hand at the pile of Ligur's clothes, which promptly disappeared. He walked up to the desk and stood next to the angel.

Aziraphale grasped his arm, his troubled gaze fixed on the thermos again.

"It's a good thing you had it," he said quietly.

(Which was to say, "I know you were aware that giving this thermos to you cost me a lot. You must have thought it was because I was afraid of consequences I'd have to endure if Heaven ever found out. The truth is, I didn't believe that holy water could ever, in any way, contribute to saving your life. Leaving you the thermos was my leap of faith. I'm sorry for not trusting you sooner.")

"I suppose I was lucky you were in the area."

(Which was to say, "I don't think I can blame you for not trusting me sooner. I don't know how I'd react if you asked me to bring you some hellfire, after all. Thank you for making the decision that if I was going to get holy water anyway, I would get it from you. It quite literally saved my life, and I'm glad you can see the proof now.")

Aziraphale nodded and turned to him, eyeing his expression. His look settled on Crowley's sunglasses.

"You don't have to wear these when nobody else is around, you know."

"Force of habit. Sorry."

The demon took the sunglasses off with his Aziraphale's-grasp-free hand.

"Come on, angel," he sighed. "I think I need another drink."

"Fair enough."

In the living room, there was a small table, two chairs, and a freshly-miracled bottle of wine, along with two glasses.

Crowley sprawled in the chair, opening the bottle with a snap.

"S'pose there'll be a similar treat waiting for me in Hell," he said, nodding in the vague direction of where the red bucket was still lying miserably on the floor.

Aziraphale replied with a long while of thoughtful silence.

"I forgot to tell you something too," he said eventually. "I refused to take part in the War, you know. Before Tadfield, that is. I was given the uniform but I gave it away and fled."

(Which was to say, "I don't know how to help you but I am in trouble too. You're not alone, we can think of something together.")

"You _what_?"

(Which was to say, "You bastard, you did it again and I love it.")

"I gave it away," repeated the angel.

Crowley stared into his glass.

"So much for Heaven's mercy, eh?" he said sympathetically.

Aziraphale nodded. Because he had to admit the demon was right, and maybe for the first time in the angel's life he wasn't only worried that Hell might want to destroy Crowley completely; he was also worried that Heaven might want to destroy _him_ completely.

He froze. Crowley noticed.

"What?"

It _clicked_. All elements of the plan fell into place like gears. And made sense, even.

"Well then, Crowley..."

"_What?_"

"What if," said the angel slowly, "you never went to Hell again?"

"Angel, believe me, I _wish_ I could, but-"

"Crowley, for Hea- for Somebody's sake, keep up," he interrupted, his voice agitated, as he ignored the demon's raised brow. "What if _you_ didn't go to Hell? What if _we_ _chose our faces wisely_?"

And Crowley understood. Didn't answer, but understood. He stared into the glass.

"I don't like it too, you know," said Aziraphale. "But what kills a demon can't possibly kill an angel."

(Which was to say, "I don't want you to go to Heaven just as much as you don't want me to go to Hell, but I'm willing to do this to save your life. I always kept saying, 'I am an angel, you are a demon.' Now I'm using this argument to make the choice you've always wanted me to make.")

Crowley nodded. Because they really only had each other now. And if they wanted to save the other, they had to let themselves be saved in return.

Aziraphale placed a hand on his heart, breathing out slowly.

"Everything alright?" asked Crowley. ("Oh, so you felt that?")

"Perfectly." ("I always feel that. I wish you could feel it back. I like to think mine is just as strong.")

"All right then." ("I don't have to be able to feel it, angel. I know it.")

The night passed faster than they would like. They planned and discussed and learned about Heaven nowadays and Hell, and when the morning came, it didn't feel like enough. It felt like they'd been running breathless for eleven years now, and someone just moved the finish line a mile further. But it would have to do.

Crowley was standing in the door of his flat.

"I'd just like to say, if we don't get out of this... nice knowing you, angel," Aziraphale heard from his own mouth.

(Which was to say, "I love you.")

"Here's to the next time," he replied.

(Which was to say, "I love you too.")


End file.
